


A Man and His Sword

by oceansgrey



Series: Kisame Week 2019 [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Kiri no Shinobigatana Shichinin Shuu | Seven Swordsmen of the Mist (Naruto) - Freeform, Kisame Centric, Kisame Week 2019, KisameWeek2019, Swordsman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansgrey/pseuds/oceansgrey
Summary: A history of Kisame as a swordsman and of Samehada, the blade that made him one.





	A Man and His Sword

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write for Kisame Week because I will never pass up writing my favorite shark man.  
Prompts used: Swordsman

Samehada was Kisame’s only true comfort at times.

In Kirigakure, he had killed for this sword. This sword that brought him infamy, the sword that felt like it was an extension of his arm. She (even though it was sentient and had no pronouns, Kisame had taken to calling Samehada ‘her’) always chittered at his back, purred when he tended to her, seemed to be the only thing after killing Fuguki that truly made sense. 

Samehada was a part of him, metaphorically and literally. Fusing with the sword made him an invincible killing machine, a monster. The monster of Kirigakure, his face spread across the bingo books of the Five Great Nations.

Samehada is what made him one of the legendary Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He was strong without it, terribly so, the tailless tailed beast, but with it, he was unstoppable.

“Starting today, you’ll be my subordinate,” Fuguki said, smiling down at the whelp he had taken on. “My name is Fuguki Suikazan, and you’ll report to me for missions, and I’ll train you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,”

“How old are you, boy?”

“Eleven, sir,”

Fuguki smirked, Samehada at his back becoming restless. He handed Kisame one of his spare blades, walking towards the training ground.

“Show me that you’ve got the potential to be a Swordsman, kid. If you do well enough, I _might_ introduce you to the others,”

Kisame fought the urge to smile, his hand gripping the blade of the sword.

“Yes, sir,”

Kisame is Fuguki’s pride and joy, all a master could want in a student. He’s polite, attentive, willing to do anything and everything he is asked of.

The other swordsmen tease him about how well behaved the Hoshigaki boy is. Fuguki just shrugs it off, hands Kisame a blade, and lets the others decide for themselves how skilled his apprentice is with a blade.

The trap was laid with the intent to kill. Kisame didn’t want any chance at Fuguki fighting back.

He wanted that sword.

“Kisame…you…!” Fuguki choked on his own blood, coughing, the chains holding him in place, kunai digging into important chakra points.

Both knew this day would come at some time. It was tradition of the Swordsmen that the student would kill the master and obtain the sword by force unless the swordsman retired and handed it off to their progeny.

Kisame stood before the cooling body of his master, seventeen and tired of the lies fed to him by the village, the stolen sword immediately accepting him as its new master.

“Good work, Kisame,”

Kisame jolted, turning towards the direction of the familiar voice. He had heard that voice countless times, the face of the Hidden Mist.

Yagura came out from the shadows, a pleased smile on his face.

Kisame instinctively grasped for the handle of the sword, knowing Yagura’s penchant for assassinating random shinobi.

“I had a feeling he would let his guard down with his subordinate, and I was right. He was collaborating with the enemy. Also, from now on, you’re my subordinate,”

Kisame grinned.

“Until you decide to take me out, too,”

Yagura shook his head.

“I can trust someone like you because you’ve been handling dirty missions for your country and village. You know that this world is all lies,”

“What am I? Am I an enemy, or a friend? What is my goal? The only thing I feel is that my own existence is nothing but a lie,” Kisame asked, genuinely curious of what response he would get. He was tired of lies, tired of lying for the sake of the village.

He just wanted the truth.

_“I’ll make a place for you,”_

“You’re the new guy?” Kisame asked, shouldering Samehada onto his shoulder as he took in the sight of the man before him.

“Yeah,” came the gruff reply, a scowl on his face. “What about it?”

Zabuza Momochi, the demon of the Hidden Mist. He looked agitated to be there, standing in the training ground with the few Swordsmen that were left. Ever since the deaths of the past generation, it had just been Kisame, Mangetsu, and Raiga.

Now, it was also Zabuza.

“Welcome,” Mangetsu gave him a smirk. Kisame knew the killing intent behind that snaggle toothed grin. “Congrats on becoming one of us. Let’s see if those three months you spent training paid off,”

Zabuza rolled his eyes, a hand coming to grasp at the handle of Kubikiribocho.

“Come at me with everything you’ve got,” he said, and Kisame always loved a challenge.

The sun was finally setting by the time Mangetsu called it quits, Kisame and Zabuza battered and bruised. Raiga was struggling to stand, one of the blades of Kiba planted into the ground for him to lean on. Mangetsu was struggling to keep Hiramekarei upright, the tremble in his forearms and the tightness of his grip on the twin handle giving away his exhaustion.

Kisame and Zabuza were still at it, having abandoned the swords for an actual fist fight. While Kisame fought perfectly with Samehada within the first few days of obtaining the sword, if he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that Zabuza had been handling Kubikiribocho since the day he was born. This had also been the kid that, a year after he had graduated the academy, had massacred the entire class, making a name for himself among the shinobi world.

The Sandaime had even called him a demon, a demon created in the Bloody Mist his reign had brought upon the village.

Zabuza landed a punch to Kisame’s face, feeling the sickening crack in his jaw.

“Kisame, enough,” Mangetsu said, panting as he pulled the summoning scroll out. Hiramekarei disappeared in a flash of smoke, the elder Hozuki trying to regain his bearing as leader of the swordsmen. “Good work,”

Kisame spat out mainly blood, one of his teeth falling into the grass.

“Nice hook,” he complimented, lowering his fists. “You’re lucky my teeth grow back,”

“Fucking shark,” Zabuza mumbled, relaxing his stance. He went back over, swinging Kubikiribocho back into it’s holster. 

“Come on,” Mangetsu sighed in relief. “Let’s go get some food,”

The swordsmen ended their day in one of Kiri’s hole in the wall restaurants, Kisame chewing slowly as the ache in his jaw blossomed whenever he opened his mouth to eat.

Watching Zabuza across the table, inhaling his food as if he were a starving man, Kisame found himself giving him a small smile.

“We make one hell of a team, Hoshigaki,” Zabuza said, looking out at the carnage before them.

“More like I did one hell of a job with Samehada, and you picked up the leftovers,” Kisame teased, watching the corner of Zabuza’s mouth twitch upward into something akin to a smile.

A smile. As if he could ever get the demon to do that.

Mangetsu died.

Raiga left.

“We’re the only ones left,” Kisame said sadly, watching Zabuza across the table as the wielder of Kubikiribocho eyed his new ward. “Where’d you pick up the kid?”

“My last mission,” Zabuza said with a hint of fondness in his voice, watching Haku eat. The kid ate the same way Zabuza had, as if he didn’t know when his next meal was. “Up north,”

Kisame reached for his cup of tea, watching the kid grow tired. He must have tuckered himself out, eating so much.

“Never took you for the fatherly type-”

“He’s my student,” Zabuza snapped. “Not my kid,”

Later after dinner, once Zabuza carried the kid back to his flat, Kisame would question whether or not Zabuza genuinely didn’t see himself as a fatherly figure to Haku.

He figured not to press it, though, or else Zabuza might run him through with his sword.

It was late at night when Zabuza came to Kisame’s apartment, crouched on the balcony as he tapped on the window. Kisame wasn’t too keen on being woken up, but from the serious look on Zabuza’s face, he knew he had to hear out his partner.

A coup, his main supporters his assassination unit. An attempt to cleanse the Mist from Yagura’s reign, to try to save the backwater village. The economy was tanking due to trade blockades, Yagura’s increasing anxiety causing him to become despotic. If someone ruled with an iron fist, with the ruthlessness of a Swordsmen, Zabuza figured the village _might_ be saved.

Kisame was one of Yagura’s most trusted shinobi, and his heart was split in two directions upon hearing Zabuza’s plans.

“I’m giving you a running start, solely based on our history together,” Kisame threatened, raising Samehada at Zabuza. “Get your kid and run,”

“Of course you’d stab me in the back,” Zabuza said, the blood of Yagura’s guard spattered across his face. “I could kill you where you stand,”

“And risk your brat dying?” Kisame looked at Zabuza’s side, at Haku leaning heavily onto his shoulder.

The poor kid must have drained most his chakra. He was still only ten.

Zabuza put a protective arm over Haku, the fire in his eyes and the demonic energy coming from him flaring.

“You hurt one hair on his head and I’ll give you the most painful death imaginable,” Zabuza threatened.

The sound of the hunter nin running through the corridors of the Mizukage’s estate grew louder as they approached.

Zabuza pulled a smoke bomb from his pocket, him and Haku disappearing into the early morning light.

“Good job, Kisame,” Yagura praised him later.

Betraying one of the few people he could call a friend left him feeling uneasy, stomach churning.

The daimyo was an easy kill, Kisame slipping from the village without a sight, forehead protector with an ugly line through the symbol, Samehada the only thing left unchanged.

“Starting today, I’ll be your partner in the Akatsuki,” Kisame said, looking down at the seated teen in front of him. “My name’s Kisame Hoshigaki, formerly of the Hidden Mist,”

He threatened the kid with Samehada, letting out a laugh once he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t understand the power that sword had.

He decided against hurting him. He seemed like a decent kid, despite killing his entire family.

Itachi was silent as he watched Kisame tend to Samehada, the subtle sounds of her content purrs filling the room of their room at the inn they had stopped at for the night.

“Why does your sword make noise?” Itachi asked, peering up from his book with genuine curiosity. “What’s so special about it that you spend hours caring for it?”

“She’s sentient,” Kisame said, feeling the scales of the great broadsword move under his fingertips. “And the most terrifying and hardest to wield of the Seven Swords of the Mist,”

“That must make you remarkable, then,” Itachi said, his tone bored.

“Go ahead, hotshot,” Kisame stood, extending Samehada’s handle to him. “Try holding it,”

“I’m not as well equipped with a blade,”

“That’s a lie, Itachi. I’ve seen you use a katana before. Just try it,”

Kisame watched his partner hesitantly reach a hand out, fingertips gingerly touching the handle before Samehada’s spikes protruded, the blade growling.

Itachi pulled his hand back, grabbing a tissue to wipe at the blood from his small cut. Kisame had moved Samehada before it could actually stab through his hand.

“I seem to have been proven wrong,” Itachi said, the Sharingan blazing. “It doesn’t happen often. Enjoy your little victory while it lasts,”

Kisame laughed, knowing the lack of threat those words had.

He would just take Itachi to a teashop and get him his favorite sweets, and then his partner would relax.

Zetsu decided to pop his head up as Kisame and Itachi were travelling through Fire Country, the Akatsuki’s messenger appearing from the ground in front of the Swordsman.

“We have news,” Black Zetsu said.

“Zabuza Momochi, formerly of the Seven Swordsmen, and his apprentice Haku are dead,” White Zetsu said.

“Team Kakashi took them out,” Black Zetsu responded.

“Kakashi, huh,” Itachi pondered.

“Leader said to let you know, since he’s someone you knew,” Zetsu said, looking at Kisame. He disappeared as quickly as he came, fading into the ground.

“Did you know this Zabuza, Kisame?” Itachi asked, a genuine question.

“A bit,” Kisame said, fighting the urge to frown.

He had fought by his side for years, had been the only one to truly call the demon a friend. In turn, the demon thought of the monster as his own comrade.

Kisame looked down at Itachi, just eighteen.

Haku would have been fifteen this year.

Too young, but traitors never die a good death.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Kisame said, walking ahead. He tried not to notice Samehada whimpering at his back softly.

“Itachi Uchiha is dead,” Zetsu reported.

Kisame watched Suigetsu, the cute kid he once taught to fight, and his team let out a sigh of relief that Sasuke was alright.

Kisame felt his chest ache, the loss of a good friend, someone he would say was near and dear to him.

Later on that night at the Akatsuki base, if it even could be called the Akatsuki anymore with just three members, Kisame laid on his bed, holding Samehada close as she let out pained cries.

She had grown close to Itachi over the eight long years of their partnership. Kisame vaguely remembered waking one night while Itachi had been on watch to his partner kneeling next to the sword, giving it a gentle pat.

He may not have his friends anymore, but he still had Samehada, and that was all he needed to push through.

Fighting the eight tails jinchuriki was truly a fun fight, despite Kisame having to lay low. Samehada was his and being separated from his sword ached, now in the jinchuriki’s hold.

Looking up at Might Gai, the odd beast who had actually bested him in their fight, Kisame knew he lost.

He refused to die on anything but his own terms, cutting off his own tongue to pull himself from the Yamanaka’s jutsu.

Within the safe walls of the water prison, looking at Samehada one last time, Kisame reflected on his life, a true Swordsman.

He somewhat regretted not having the tradition of his own possible child or a student kill him for his sword or best him in a fight, but in the end, he was a pretty decent human after all.

_“Is he really dead?”_

_Killer Bee squatted down to Samehada on the ground, the sentient sword letting out a pitiful wail at the loss of it’s master._

_“He’s crying tears of sorrow, boo hoo. This time it seems it’s really true,” _

**Author's Note:**

> I read a post on Tumblr where Kisame was the one to betray Zabuza and make it so his coup failed, and I wanted to incorporate that into this (tumblr user forgivememadreforihavesinned, one of my favorite accounts for Kiri nins).  
I also have a work in progress that is going to focus more my favorite headcanon Mist team, so be on the lookout for that! :)  
Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought of it! :)


End file.
